I have an aunt,
but she's more like a best friend,
we're more alike than all my friends,
more alike than family even.

We have similar phases,
she helps me through,
she's my godmother,
I love her,
it's true.

She is relaxed,
she puts things in perspective,
her children are god-sent,
her husband a saint.

Her spirit is sweet,
not unlike my mother,
with sacred things she is devout,
but does not overdo.

Her house is a second home,
a refuge from the storm clouds,
that brew in my head,
for that I thank her,
for all that she's said.

I love you AJ,
despite the fact that sometimes life is hard,
I'm glad that you're my aunt,
my eternal friend.

The language of love,
it isn't French,
the language of love,
it's action.

There's a girl I know,
I don't know her well,
I haven't known her for long,
but she's someone I'd miss,
if I found she were gone.

Her eyes are quite pretty,
her smile infectious,
her views on the world,
are pure and relentless.

She knows not of the future,
but that doesn't bother her,
she smiles anyway,
though life is often unsure.

Her style is different,
her heroes are loving,
endearing and god-fearing,
to adversity indifferent.

She isn't quite perfect,
but knows what she knows,
she loves other people,
and cares not for first-world woes.

She listens well,
and understands,
she returns worthy feedback,
and gives few demands.

Her intentions are pure,
she knows where she stands,
her spirit is lovely,
as if cast with God's hand.

There's a girl I know,
I don't know her well,
I haven't known her for long,
but she's someone I'd miss,
if I found she were gone,

She's one the better people I've met,
her persona serene,
her presence is impactful,
though she doesn't realize it yet.

A cool Summer breeze,
the sun at my back,
wind blowing softly,
cast lazily betwixt leaves,
surrounding my mind,
with the soft touch of peace.

A wish in my heart,
a prayer on my breath,
remembering the times,
from then till my death.

My mind often clouded,
doubt and white lies,
my soul is transparent,
filled with warm sighs.

These trails of wind,
tell my story to me,
from the simplicity of childhood,
until my body succumbs to disease.

Do not worry about the length,
care not for the width,
find strength in the journey,
each second a gift.

The shades of grey darken,
I find myself afraid,
may direction find me,
I have lost my way,
shine on me,
light the gravel at my feet,
produce fuel for ignition,
and a reason to believe.

Ropes only bind,
they do not guide,
sounds only deceive,
stealing my perception of time,
any steps forward,
are lost in my pride.

Even your hand I dare not hold,
for fear of sinking,
a shared demise,
for our worlds are far removed,
and signals in the distance,
will only lead me to shallow coves,
I am a shipwreck in the night.

Give me light,
sight to go with illumination,
intuition to go with my eyes,
and a key for this cage I create in my mind.

Presto,
with haste,
bring forth the measure,
striking sound to create.

Allegro,
with grace,
flow forth like a river,
beauty in God's eternal round.

Moderato,
with taste,
medium to the greats,
note upon note,
slowly mounting.

Andante,
with slackened pace,
venerable vineyard of sound,
sing forth,
no appeasement for the proud.

Adagio,
with measured blow,
The Hammer on anvil,
ring out your chord,
the tonic repeats below.

Presto*,
cantabile*,
homunculus,
the human voice,
Stradivari sings to us.

Sometimes I feel restless,
especially when I am alone,
it is the object of my stress,
there are no longer any feelings of home.

Sometimes at night,
I hear scratching at my door,
when I investigate all is right,
not a thing out of place.

Sometimes I feel claustrophobic,
the walls close in around me,
I shake this feeling off,
but cannot escape the seeping of dread.

I think I am paranoid,
slowly losing my grip,
my mind,
at wit's end.

There came a knocking at my cellar door,
impossible,
what for?

Thunder crashes,
vibrations ring through my hall,
lightning flashes overhead,
I shudder at its pall.

The storm rages on,
shattering glass and vase alike,
splintering doorways with its might,
no more can I pleasantly scoff.

The knocking comes again from below,
I fear I must investigate,
sadly I am no hero,
but still I must go,
despite enervation.

*The poor man never arrived at his station last night,
friends reported stories of his paranoia,
they sincerely hope he is alright,
nothing amiss at his residence,
but no man to be found.